


Even Steven

by northern



Series: where you can always find me [10]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Fall (Hannibal)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 01:04:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7956076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northern/pseuds/northern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was a mistake," Will says in a low voice, breaking the silence. The tips of his nail beds are pale, his fingers pressed hard against the base of his glass.</p>
<p>"It was a delight," Hannibal disagrees evenly, setting his own glass down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even Steven

**Author's Note:**

> Start with part one, or you won't know what they're talking about.
> 
> Thank you so much to Elizaria and Damnslippyplanet. You've been invaluable.

Will does not reappear until evening.

Hannibal imagines he's gone walking through the small patch of forested land belonging to no one in particular, just about an hour away from their home. At least that's what the car still in the driveway seems to indicate. Will enjoys walking even without dogs, and any piece of land with a stream or trees will eventually call him to itself. The Will who lives in Hannibal's thoughts often appears with leaves in his hair and smelling of loam and decay. Sometimes Will in the physical world mirrors this scent exactly. Tonight, Will avoids coming close enough that Hannibal can easily satisfy his curiosity. He only makes a brief appearance, so quickly through the front door that he is disappearing up the stairs by the time Hannibal comes to see in what state of mind he is.

Hannibal is not unaware of some of the emotions Will must be experiencing. No doubt Will views his loss of control as a loss of position in the strategic game he's constructed, fragile and changeable though it is. Some of the best games in Hannibal's experience have been fragile and changeable, and just because Will has been the one running this particular game doesn't mean Hannibal can't admire the way he's constructed it. Will's avoidance, however, speaks of a certain lack of experience. Perhaps Hannibal should take his turn exploring the sliding balance of their relationship, using his new foothold to burrow into Will the way Will has wormed his way into Hannibal.

Dinner is not complicated — merely time-consuming. Hannibal has spent most of the afternoon watching over a slowly reducing ragoût while baking bread and dessert pastries. These are tasks highly suited for contemplation, and he has used the time wisely.

A residue of the warm glow lingering from their morning exertions remains even though Will does not reflect Hannibal's smile back at him over their meal. Will does not deny Hannibal the pleasure of his company at the table, however. Hannibal didn't think he would. Will is easily startled at times and his thoughts more malleable, this is true, but the determination at the core of him looks much like its counterpart in Hannibal.

Hannibal relishes his food a little more than absolutely necessary. He can see that Will is thinking of this morning, as the meal goes on. Of the greedy way Hannibal had refused to let even a drop of Will's release go to waste. Will is looking at his mouth, and Hannibal knows it is a petty thing, unsubtle, but he still does it — he licks his lips. The way Will's gaze skitters away to his wine glass, to the flower arrangement at the end of the table, makes it worth it.

"It was a mistake," Will says in a low voice, breaking the silence. The tips of his nail beds are pale, his fingers pressed hard against the base of his glass.

"It was a delight," Hannibal disagrees evenly, setting his own glass down.

"I didn't want to do that!"

Hannibal smiles, gazing steadily at Will. "And yet you did. How did it feel, gripping my head so tightly, thrusting so deep?"

Will makes a wordless, hurt noise, but then he surprises Hannibal, meeting his gaze steadily, a burning intensity buried deep. "It felt," he grits out, "like a violation."

"And then you walked away," Hannibal says noncommittally. "What would have happened, I wonder, if you had stayed?"

"I… I couldn't. I felt… It was too intimate."

"Were you shocked at your own behavior?"

Will glares at him. "You know I was. You loved it that I was."

Hannibal cannot deny this. Will's uncensored actions, free of restraint, have often provoked a response of shock in him — a physical reaction to the perceived conflict between what he does or thinks and what he believes he _should_ do or think. This abundance of emotion, battering at Will's defences, flooding his body with chemicals. So unlike Hannibal himself. Of course it's fascinating.

"It was gratifying, yes, to see you so affected. To be the focus of your desire."

"To encourage it, and see how it affected me."

Also true, but there are other things to speak about. "There are degrees of affection. You've said you fear drowning in me. It may be useful to you to face that fear and conquer it."

"I have done my share of drowning at your hands, years ago."

Hannibal holds his hand up, palm toward the ceiling. "Yet this is our new life. With all the clocks reset."

Will huffs out a breath, annoyed. "All the cups unbroken in a row on the shelf?"

Hannibal stills. "I see no cups here," he says. "Do you?"

"There were choices made…" Will says, a thread of tension in his voice. Hannibal waits for him to finish his thought, but instead Will leans back in his chair drawing a deep breath. "The clocks reset," he says. "No cups. Just us."

"We ourselves are plenty and enough, many would argue, I'm sure," Hannibal says and allows his mouth to mirror the crooked way Will smiles at that. "I suggest we upend our arrangement. There are clearly more paths that may be useful to explore."

Will's smile falls off his face. "So you want to turn it all around? And do what? Cut me open, or make my mind fog over until I can't see anything but what you say is the truth?"

"I want what I have always wanted from you," Hannibal replies. "For you to know me and not regret it. For you to find joy in your own nature. To share a deep understanding. My earlier methods to achieve this may have been… unsuitable in the long run."

"Tell me what you want to do."

Hannibal does have a basic framework of a plan, but it is not detailed. Not yet. "I want to explore another kind of immersion," he says. "I see no need to control or confine you. Rather, I would encourage you to lose yourself in instinct. To follow your physical impulses freely."

Will looks at him. "Like I did this morning." His voice is inflectionless.

"You have navigated through strict control, lately. That is not what I envisioned for us, once."

The look Will gives him could be described as venomous. "What you envisioned was murder."

"A divine ecstasy without limitations."

"Hannibal," Will says. "I… don't actually want to kill you anymore."

The statement is weighted with meaning, and Hannibal finds himself flattening his hand on the table to stop it from trembling.

"I don't want that," Will repeats, staring down at his plate.

Hannibal takes a measured breath. "What is it that you want?" he asks, because that seems to be the only way to get to the center of this maze they've lost themselves in. "What lies behind all of this — your fears and desires? Do you know what you want from me, truly?"

Will is silent, still but for his heartbeat, on the other side of the table. "You smooth yourself over," he finally says, "like sand, always. There is no way for me to see the signs that I have been there, in your life. You could leave tomorrow and start a new life, and no one would see that you were mine. I want to know that I have made a difference. With you. That I have left an impression in you that will last."

"Scars last," Hannibal offers, but he knows that's not what Will means even before he shakes his head.

"No. Not that kind of impression. I could carve my name into you and it would mean nothing, if you decided it was just lines."

There are many marks on Hannibal's body that are indeed 'just lines'. He could offer Will something more severe than scars or brands, but he doesn't bother voicing the idea. Will would not accept that either.

"You attempted to bend my nature instead," he says instead. "To make room for yourself inside of me, so that I would always carry you with me."

"Yes." Will doesn't look at him, but his hushed voice rings of sincerity.

Hannibal breathes. It means a lot to him, that Will wants to be permanently engraved in him. He already is, of course, present always in everything Hannibal thinks and does, always a companion or at least a presence, watching him silently from the edge of things. Hannibal wishes that he and Will were truly telepathic, instead of this hazy state of almost-touching that he feels so often. They hold entire conversations in their minds sometimes, but it's not always that what has been said remains said outside of those particular encounters.

"I will do anything you ask of me," he says, slowly. "I do it simply because it is you, asking. Do you understand?"

Will shakes his head minutely, but it is clearly not because he doesn't understand. His eyes are half-shuttered windows, still guarded, even after everything.

"If you want to subjugate me, to train me to commands, you may do so. If you want me to suffer, I will. I do these things because there is nothing more important to me than you."

He lays his hand on the table, outstretched with his palm up. Will looks at it, at him, and Hannibal thinks about the nature of fear and its many faces.

"You don't need to put a collar on me to touch me," he says and waits. It is difficult, to offer his heart again and again to someone so hesitant to take it. Either Will can overcome his reticence, or he can't. Hannibal has done his best to plead his case, but in the end, it is Will who must decide. Will, who has taken over so much of Hannibal's life and consciousness, yet doesn't seem to be aware of the extent of his influence no matter how many times Hannibal tells him.

Will puts his hand in Hannibal's, the shock of his touch almost painful. Will's hand is shaking a little and it's slightly damp with nervous perspiration, but his grip is firm, as if he doesn't want to risk Hannibal pulling his hand back.

"I can barely recall us breaking the surface," Will says, voice rough with emotion. "But I remember the strength of your grip. How you pulled me from the waves and made me cough the water up, even though it burned."

Hannibal's eyes sting in sympathy at the memory. He pulls Will's hand toward him and lifts it to his mouth, pressing a careful kiss to his knuckles. Will makes a gasping sob of a noise at that, but when Hannibal looks at him he's not crying.

"I didn't drown then. You didn't let me."

Hannibal presses Will's hand to his cheek. It is close to the way Will has touched him many times, while Hannibal was kneeling at his feet, and Will seems to see it as well. He strokes his fingers over Hannibal's cheekbone, and then under his eye, to wipe the moisture away. Hannibal closes his eyes and lets him do as he will. He drinks the touch in like water.

"We both drowned and died," he murmurs. "It is enough for a lifetime. I think we are inured."

Will lets out a shaky laughter. "I'll take your word for it," he says, and it sounds like acceptance, like a promise, at last.

**Author's Note:**

> And that was the last part of this series. Thank you for reading, for your kudos and lovely comments. <3


End file.
